Review Summary: Thy scrotum will glow and shatter regardless of your salary.
Let's face it: objectivity is a mirage, an illusion. The job of the reviewer is to describe a very personal and intimate experience using the passive form and impersonal pronouns, pretending that a listening experience could be replicated and distributed to a broader audience. Let us not hide in plain sight, under the burning electromagnetic radiations of Helios almighty: I like this album, and the reason why I like it is because it reminds me of a particular event in my life, which changed my perception of the world. Here is what happened:
Vigorously scratching my right ass cheek I was, sitting on my moderately-priced sofa and watching TV. My telephone dringdringed across the room, my right hand promptly abandoned the butt district and picked it up. "From this moment onwards, I am able to hear you", I said. "We need your help Svetlana", said Jason, or Martha, or whatever that person was called, "there's a massive oil leakage in Ban Nahin, Laos, and we need you to stop it". Kopfertami nomau, it must be the work of the Soviets, yet again! I cut my nails, shaved, and left.
Laos now, where do I even begin. Bought a wife from this country ten years ago, or was it Cambodia, can't really remember but my respect for their seemingly functional liberal socialist government was real, just like my barely-existing knowledge of it. I used my sixth sense to find the leakage, and sure enough, there it was, in Ban Nahin, nicknamed the heaven of the based. I fixed the leak but uh-oh what was that? An ambush? A trap! I was captured and imprisoned.
I was alone in da jail, and I thought... Wouldn't it be nice to have some music with me, maybe something with good production, melancholic yet hopeful, with interesting arrangements and unpredictable song structures. Experimental songwriting, that's what I would love, experimental but not abrasive, just slightly unfamiliar, enough to keep me engaged and pleasantly alienated. Yeah, wouldn't it be nice. I was a weird, creepy ass teenager, and music used to comfort me back when I thought that people couldn't do it. The sweet kiss of death still felt very far though, and everything was fiction, future and prediction: music was my companion when I came back from hell and regained hope. Yeah... Wouldn't it be nice to have some music with me right now, I thought.
"Time's up Teixeria!" said my kidnapper, who turned out to be a Kurdish separatist, "hand me the Philosopher's stone."
"Like hell I will! Charizard, I choose you!" I yelled. Out of the pokésphere came a skilled lawyer. Needless to say, I got out of jail in no time.
On my way back home (green airplane), I was still thinking about the music that I would have loved to listen to in that moment. I kind of like post-punk, but sooo much of it is badly recorded! So many bands from the 80s didn't know how to double track guitars, why is that? And where was the ambition, the sound design, the je ne sais quoi putain de merde! I got so upset on that magenta boat that there's a 75 % probability that I might have uttered the s-word and an 85 % probability that I might have yelled the f-one.
I got home just in time for Hannukkah. Found a dead squirrel in my garden, so I decided to dig a hole and organize a decent funeral for that little former light bearer, and while digging the hole I found "Inside the Rose" by These New Puritans. I listened to it and it was so good!!!
